“Lesley, if you would be so kind. Please distribute my wealth among our honored guests.

“To Ms. Hannah Gruen, my copy of Matisse’s ‘Woman with a Hat,’ ” she said. “You were the talk of the party.

“To Mr. Covarrubias, my entire collection of Greek and Roman statuary to use as models for his art classes.

“For Abby Heyworth, a scrumptious still life, all vegetarian, of course.

“To Angelica Velvet, I am sorry I can’t make you any profits. I hope you will accept this painting of a dollar bill, inspired by Andy Warhol.”

Angelica Velvet let out a sharp, barking laugh but accepted the gift, tucking the small painting away under her caftan. “My dear Duchess, we’re long overdue for tea,” she said. “Shall we make an appointment to plot your reentry to the art world?”

“Gladly, Angelica,” said the Duchess, beaming. “I’m glad to be working together again.”

The man with antlers was given a painting of a magnificent stag standing before a smoky mountain range. The four women in sequined coveralls were gifted a yellow-and-blue lithograph of four can-can ladies in the style of the French artist Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Maria the librarian was given a reproduction of a page from The Book of Kells, a beautiful illuminated manuscript originally made by monks in the ninth century.

“To Bess Marvin, a portrait of a French noblewoman who could be her double with those bright blue eyes.

“To George Fayne, a reproduction of the Artemisia Gentileschi painting Judith Slaying Holofernes.”

“Whoa, this painting rules!” George exclaimed as Mr. Gatewood presented her with the framed artwork.

When everyone in the room had been given a painting of their own, the Duchess announced that the River Heights Museum of Fine Art could have everything that was left.

But there was one person who hadn’t received a piece of the Duchess’s collection. Me.

“And last, but not least, Nancy Drew,” the Duchess said. I realized she was waiting for me to come and stand before her.

The Duchess’s face, up close, was much softer and kinder than it looked from her throne, or glaring down at me from her mechanical painter’s chair. Her honey-colored eyes twinkled as she laid a wrinkled hand on my arm.

“Dear Nancy, you have the clearest eyes of anyone here tonight. You saw me for who I really am. I see the creative spark in you, as I saw it in my grandchildren long ago. And so I bequeath to you a blank canvas, and my favorite set of brushes.”

“I’m touched,” I said, happy to be recognized for my skills of observation. I guess solving mysteries is an art form too. Though it was still bothering me that I didn’t know who’d pushed me through the throne’s trapdoor …

I gathered up the supplies, preparing to return to the crowd, but the Duchess wasn’t finished. She leaned in close and whispered so that only I could hear.

“Please, my dear, make sure you always sign your work with your own name. I promise I’ll do the same. From now on, anyway.”